


Back in Purgatory

by DestinyFreeReally



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7861918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestinyFreeReally/pseuds/DestinyFreeReally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The most self indulgent piece of emo feelings I've ever written. I imagine the first of S2 starting off a little rough. Or a lot. Um, I guess major alcohol warnings for some of this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back in Purgatory

     Her sisters are gone. One dead, one evil and disappeared. Her partner's gone. Doc and Nicole gone, too, to look for evil Waverly or good Waverly or both, and they're all gone. Wynonna figures she's on hour number two hundred of this god-awful, wretched day and she can only think of one thing to do.  
  
    So she sits in the dark corner of the bar and she drinks. And she drinks. And she drinks. And nobody stops her from drinking, (as if they could), and when the bar finally closes it's just as well because there's a song on the bar radio that her Daddy used to play in his truck and that's the last thing Wynonna really needs. So she cradles a cold bottle of  _something_ right out the swinging double doors and drinks all the way home.   
  
    By the time she stumbles up the porch steps, literally, the sun's up again and she doesn't want to go inside that empty, empty house so she doesn't. She sits on the porch until she lays on the porch, and the world spins with a hum and a fuzz, and eventually even the sun fades to black.   
  
    When she wakes up on the couch it's weird, but not unheard of, that she'd somehow managed to drunk-sleep-walk-probably-crawl into the warmth of the Homestead. After slithering to the bathroom for five minutes of fruitless dry-heaving over the the toilet, she flushes- the noise offensive to her many-layered headaches- and even the mirror looks furious with her.   
  
   "I'm not  _that_ quiet, you know. You shouldn't be this easy to sneak up on at 2:30 in the afternoon." And then Dolls is standing behind her in the mirror and Wynonna nearly falls over in shock and relief and still-exhaustion, before turning to fall into his arms. Carrying her to the couch last night had been the easy part for him; watching her while he was getting driven away, finding her on her own porch, booze-snoring-  _that_ had been hard for him. Carrying her to the couch, her unconsciously snaking her arms around his neck, that had been easy. This would be hard. The red-rims of her eyes told him that.   
  
    "But you-" Her voice came out croaky and hollowed out, and she pulled back from him for a second to just  _look_ at him.   
  
   "BBD and I were able to work something out." It's vague and it's very Dolls, but he pulls her back into his chest, hands settling on her hair.   
  
   "Sure, pull your military spy crap,  _now._ I was scared shitless, dude I-" Wynonna thinks about yesterday, about him shooting her sister because she  _couldn't,_ she couldn't, and about seeing him carted off like some  _prisoner_ , and about Waverly's eyes gone dead-black. "You came back." Is what she decides to say, and it sounds like a question without her meaning it to.   
  
   "Of course, I did." Dolls can still smell the bar on her so much he wonders if contact-drunk is even a thing, and he's touched by the ways she's touching him; like she's making sure he's really there.   
  
   "Why? I mean, all the bad shit here-" She pulled away from him without even realizing she was about to cry; about to crack. "I'm sorry, Dolls."   
  
   All the feelings Wynonna had spent good money drinking away came back, only with more teeth. Guilt and pain and of course, guilt. Guilt had been beating her over the head since she stepped one bare toe back into Purgatory, and now it had her pinned down and strangled. She apologizes to him again, and she realizes she's never meant anything more in her life.  
  
   Dolls realizes in a second that he's watching her fall apart. That probably to the town or at least the bar, last night looked like losing it, but for Wynonna Earp this was it. Shaking on her bathroom floor, deciding if she's worth fighting for.   
  
   "My baby sister's a  _demon_ , or something- a maybe demon, cause jesus christ, I don't even know- my older, dead sister, who I  _thought_ was dead because I shot our Daddy, was actually _alive_ , but now she's dead, actually dead, because you killed her so I wouldn't have to, to protect the whole world from crazy demons that nobody can know about and then you were  _gone_ -" He realizes her fingernails are digging into his shoulders she's gripping so hard, and when she lets go, she let's herself sink to her knees, visibly shaking. "I should've never came back, you know, Dolls. Because so  _what_ if I'm the fucking heir now, huh? I blew every chance I had to fix anything and you know what the worst part is? I was actually  _trying_." Her voice was raw and coming out in cracked whispers now, and it  _burned_ to keep talking and it  _burned_ to keep silent.  
  
    "Hey, hey, I know, shh, I know, it's okay," Dolls shushed her into his arms again, covering her sweat-slicked forehead in soft kisses, broken that she was broken and hurt that she was hurt. Tasting salt down her cheeks, he pressed his lips there, too- held her for a while until she blew her nose into his shirt and felt more like herself to both of them.   
  
   "We have to find my demon sister." She finally croaked into his shoulder, swearing to herself she wasn't fighting off a laugh at that sentence. Wynonna decided she could almost feel bad for whatever's hurting her baby sister. She could almost feel pity for it. Because Wynonna Earp, messy, crazy, chick with a gun Wynonna Earp, was going to hunt down and kill every shred of demonic-monstery-evil in Purgatory if it physically killed her or her liver. Even if it didn't make a difference at all.   
  
   When Dolls pulled her back up to a standing, fully vertical position and smoothed out her hair from her face, she felt sober. She looked into Dolls eyes, full of promises and more soft kisses and strength, and she felt sad; she felt sad. And she felt pissed. 


End file.
